


Worse Sheets To Tangle Than These

by pirateygoodness



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-18
Updated: 2008-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-15 19:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9251645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirateygoodness/pseuds/pirateygoodness
Summary: Blair can't talk to anybody about it, obviously. Because the only person she could tell would be Serena, who would freak out and tell Dan, who would collapse into a fit of his incredibly feminine hysterics over howweirdit was that his best friend and his girlfriend's best friend were the kinds of people who made out with girls during arty probably-Czech films, and thenthatwould get back to Jenny, who would tell Kati and Is, who would leak it to Gossip Girl, and then Blair wouldn't just be Constance Billard's new Mary Magdalene. She'd be Constance Billard's newgayMary Magdalene.





	

It's not like Vanessa cares what Blair Waldorf does or does not do. 

Because she doesn't. At _all_.

But if, for purely selfish reasons (because Blair is friends with Serena, who eats up Vanessa's Dan time, therefore the number of hours Blair isn't with Serena is directly proportional to the number of experimental Europen art films she and Dan can see each week at the cheap, scuzzy theatre near her apartment) she _did_ care, she'd be wondering why Blair was suddenly spending so much time at the coffee shop - which, Vanessa knows, is nowhere _near_ the school or any of the "cool" places to hang out - while Vanessa was working. And she'd be wondering why Blair chose to spend so much of that time alone, reading. Reading actual _books_ , too, not magazines or stuff for class, which throws Vanessa a little off guard.

Not that she didn't think Blair could _read_ or anything - obviously she _can_ read, every day Vanessa's reminded of how Blair has the best marks in _everything_ \- but Vanessa just figured she'd have better things to do, like buy shoes or plan parties or keep tabs on the people she's surrounded by who _all_ want a piece of her. (Or, you know, sacrifice kittens. Just because she _understands_ Blair now, doesn't mean she's completely convinced she's not evil bitchery incarnate.) Except, apparently, Blair doesn't. Because one day she's nowhere to be found, as things should be, and the next she's spending her prime partying and kitten sacrificing hours at a corner table in _Vanessa_ 's coffee shop, drinking Americanos black and devouring Truman Capote and Jane Austen like she's. . .well, like she's Vanessa.

Not that Vanessa _cares_.

Although.

If she doesn't care, she really has no idea how to explain the fact that one day, she volunteers to bring Blair's order over. Or why, after she sets it down, she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and opens her mouth.

"Hey." Vanessa doesn't miss the look Blair shoots back, the one that says _thank you for your service, goodbye_. "You've been down here a lot lately."

"Yeah."

Vanessa can't help but sigh a little at the awkwardness. She's never going to understand why rich people feel like they have an obligation to be mean _all_ the _time_. "Any particular reason? Not that I mind, or anything. I just thought I'd, you know. Ask."

Blair doesn't even answer, for a moment. She just gives her this long look, and the more Blair stares at her the more Vanessa realizes this is what Blair looks like when she's absolutely, completely astounded. "Don't you _know_?"

"Know what?"

Blair rolls her eyes, glares. "Oh god, you actually _don't_ know."

Well no, she doesn't. That's the whole point of asking. But she's spent enough time around Blair to at least be able to recognize when sarcasm isn't going to get her anything, so she bites the inside of her cheek and smiles. "Know _what_?"

"About how I'm a lying whore? How the entire school found out every little detail of my sordid doings with Nate and Chuck and decided it was all just too scandalous to not turn me into some kind of social leper?" She pauses for a moment, and the surprise - the _genuine_ surprise, because Vanessa wouldn't read Gossip Girl if someone _paid_ her - must show on her face, because Blair huffs and slides out a chair next to hers with the toe of her boot. "Honestly, what is _wrong_ with you? It was all over the internet."

 

Blair always assumed that having to retell the sordid story of her fall into absolute social obscurity at the hands of two people she almost thought of as friends would be painful. As painful as, say, reliving the events themselves. But she's starting to discover that it's actually kind of fun. 

Well.

It's still humiliating to have to _admit_ to being cast out of the social structure she basically built herself over _Jenny Humphrey_ especially for something as stupid (and totally nobody else's business) as sleeping with two guys in the same week. (Especially when that's only half the number of guys Kati and Is each bed in a _weekend_ , not that Blair would ever mention it. She's not the kind of girl who tells secrets anymore.) But something about the way Vanessa looks genuinely upset (underneath the veneer of detachment that apparently comes with being a weird experimental artiste) makes it sort of satisfying. 

If it weren't _Vanessa_ she was talking to, she'd almost say it was cathartic.

At least, it feels that way at the time.

 

+++

 

Three days later, Blair's starting to wish she'd taken a moment or so to think that decision through. Because now that Blair's _started_ speaking to Vanessa - and admitted that she doesn't really have a lot of other people to be speaking to instead - she appears to not be able to stop. 

At least half of this - possibly more - is Vanessa's fault.

Well, at first it's arguably _all_ Vanessa's fault, because she's the one responsible for most of the horrendously awkward small talk that comes with Blair's after-school coffee (no longer on the steps of the Met, not that she minds), about stupid things like the assignments for art class or whatever little Jenny is up to these days, like she doesn't get _that_ from Gossip Girl already.

But then, it is sort of nice having someone to talk to who isn't Dan and Serena.

(Not that Blair _minds_ Dan and Serena, but it is sort of hard not to notice the fact that they're dating. Especially now that she seems to be seeing a lot of both of them at the same time. Because she knows they don't _mean_ to, but there's something about being comforted over losing all of her social status, most of her friends, and at least one - possibly two - of the guys she liked by the world's most nauseatingly perfect couple that's just. . .painful.)

And once Blair gets Vanessa to stop making small talk about school and start discussing things that are actually _interesting_ (like French art, or the book Blair's reading, or Cary Grant), she's actually - and Blair can't believe she's even _thinking_ this - not that bad.

Clearly, this is only the top of a very slippery slope.

 

+++

 

It takes two weeks of daily conversations before it really occurs to either of them that they might be friends. 

Vanessa's the one who figures out out first. But, in her defense, she had help - when the new girl working the espresso machine (Sandra, maybe) tells her that her friend's Americano is ready, Vanessa makes it halfway to Blair's table before she thinks to correct her. 

And when she realizes _that_ , she almost drops the cup. Worse, she almost drops it _onto Blair_ , who nods at her to sit.

"Smooth, Abrams. Really smooth."

"Sorry, I - thought of something."

"Doesn't happen often?" Blair says, but her smile makes it friendly.

"Oooh, nice one. Good to know that fancy private school's doing you some good."

"Well, last time I checked, it was your fancy private school, too."

"Yeah, but the difference is, _I_ don't need it. I'm already a genius." 

Blair laughs first, which means Vanessa wins - it's Blair's turn to pay. Now that she realizes they're friends, that seems like a much more telling detail than it did the day before.

"So, what was your thought?"

"I think we might be friends."

Blair looks like she's been hit by a bus. "Oh."

"I know."

She winces. "Oh _god_ , we _are_."

"Hey," Vanessa says, trying to play it cool. "I'm not _that_ bad."

Blair just sighs, and twists a strand of hair around her fingers. "I guess, if we're friends, we should probably do something besides hang out here like a pair of losers."

"Um." Vanessa doesn't have a lot to say past that for a moment. "Well, my sister's friend told me about this movie playing at the Twilight that's supposed to be pretty good." 

Blair shrugs, and takes a sip of her coffee. "What's it called?"

" _Infinite Refraction_ , I think?" Blair quirks an eyebrow, and suddenly she feels like she's blushing. "It's - I mean, I don't really know what it's about, I think it's sort of on the experimental side. If you don't want to see it, I totally understand."

"When does it play?"

 

+++

 

The movie turns out to _actually_ be called _The Infinite Refraction (of Spiderwebs in Autumn)_. 

Unfortunately, it also turns out to not be subtitled, despite the fact that it's entirely in what - after a lengthy discussion, because everyone else in the theatre is _way_ too stoned to worry about people talking - the two of them are pretty sure is Czech. Vanessa, at least, has the good sense to be embarrassed.

Blair, on the other hand - well, most of the time Vanessa's not sure _what_ Blair's thinking, and it's not like now is any different. But when Vanessa laughs and apologizes, Blair giggles back and rests a warm hand on her forearm, so. At least she's not upset. 

That's the last thought Vanessa has before she realizes that she and Blair are kissing. 

_Kissing_. 

It's like she's in some kind of parallel dimension. 

But - and she parts her lips to check with her tongue - that's definitely Blair's mouth pressed to hers. And it's definitely Blair that smells gorgeous, like shampoo that probably cost more than Vanessa's rent and perfume she should know the name of, when she's in this close, _kissing_ her. 

Vanessa's brain finally engages, then, and she moves her hands to Blair's shirt, tugging her closer and opening her mouth a little wider, because she's kissing _Blair_ , and that's something she thinks she should make the most of. Not that she's thought about this a lot, or anything - because she hasn't - but there's always been something _about_ her. This weirdly magnetic quality, the way everyone around her always seems ( _seemed_ might be the better word, now that there are only four or five people in the whole school who still speak to her) to just do what she wants. So it's not like she's _never_ thought about it. But she never seriously thought she'd end up _doing_ it, and yet here she is, enjoying the velvety slide of lip gloss on lip gloss, learning how it tastes to kiss the girl everyone at school thinks is a whore.

And then she's not. 

Just as quickly as it started, it's over, and Blair's staring at her with huge brown eyes and an expression Vanessa's never seen, on anyone. 

Which, she realizes a second later, is probably because she's never looked anyone in the eyes before they slapped her across the face before. But by the time Vanessa realizes that a) Blair just _slapped_ her and b) Blair _kissed_ her and _then_ slapped her, Blair's already bolted. And Vanessa's sort of just. . .there, one hand to her throbbing cheek. 

 

+++

 

Blair can't stop thinking about it. 

It's like there's a movie (and the aptness of that isn't lost on her) playing on loop in her head, ready whenever she closes her eyes. Vanessa's lips, soft and girly, and the faux-root-beer smell of Bonne Belle lip gloss that didn't seem trashy on her, somehow. The way Blair's skin felt _electric_ and prickling with excitement, and her stomach did flip-flops. (Out of anxiety, _not_ butterflies, she reminds herself.) Vanessa's hands fisting in Blair's shirt, the feeling of her blouse pulled tight against her back while Vanessa used it to tug her _closer_ , kiss her _harder_. The way it felt to kiss her back.

Slapping her.

That's the part of the movie that always snaps her out of thinking about it, so she can start all over again. 

_Slapping_ her. Who _does_ that anymore? 

And she just - she doesn't know what to _do_. She can't talk to anybody about it, obviously. Because the only person she could tell would be Serena, who would freak out and tell Dan, who would collapse into a fit of his incredibly feminine hysterics over how _weird_ it was that his best friend and his girlfriend's best friend were the kinds of people who made out with girls during arty probably-Czech films, and then _that_ would get back to Jenny, who would tell Kati and Is, who would leak it to Gossip Girl, and then Blair wouldn't just be Constance Billard's new Mary Magdalene. She'd be Constance Billard's new _gay_ Mary Magdalene.

So she's just sitting in her room, trying not to close her eyes and think about how nice Vanessa's lips felt, when it occurs to her that this is the stupidest thing in the world. There's no reason she should be sitting here, freaking out about this alone, when it's at least half Vanessa's problem, too.

So she picks up the phone.

 

+++

 

Vanessa's not sure why she's here. 

Well. She's pretty sure she knows why she's here in a vague sense, because Blair kissed her and that's probably something they should _talk_ about, instead of repressing the experience for the rest of their lives and ultimately never speaking again. She just doesn't know what _Blair_ thinks they should do about it. And when Blair answers the door with all the composure and grace of a hostess greeting guests at a garden party, well. That doesn't exactly give much away.

And so they move up to Blair's room, at her polite suggestion, while Vanessa tries to decide if this is all an act, or if she should double-check to make sure she's still in New York and not Stepford.

"So," Blair says the second the door clicks shut, and Vanessa can almost _watch_ the controlled calm leave her face. "We have a problem."

"We do," Vanessa replies, keeping her voice neutral. 

Blair nods. "Because of last night."

"Right, yeah. What was that about?" she says, like they did something _way_ more pedestrian than kiss in a theatre full of giggling, twentysomething stoners.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't _know_?"

"I mean, I don't _know_. You kissed me first."

And that's just not true at all. "Did not."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Oh, you _absolutely_ did too."

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Alright, _fine_ ," Vanessa half-shouts, raising her hands in defeat, even though _all_ of this was Blair's fault to begin with. "I'm a big gay sexual predator who made inappropriate passes at you, and I'm very sorry. It won't happen again."

Blair pauses for a moment, mouth half open in a way that shouldn't be adorable, but sort of is. "I didn't say inappropriate."

" _What?_ "

"I just said you kissed me first."

There's a part of Vanessa that's absolutely _squirming_ in totally-not-sexual frustration. That wants to just walk away, because she _knows_ that Blair's stupid little passive-aggressive bickering routine, retelling this so that _Vanessa's_ the evil lesbian who seduced _her_ , is totally just Blair trying to get what she wants without having to admit to wanting it, and Vanessa wants her to _learn_. More than anything right now, Vanessa wants Blair to just _say_ things, instead of sulking and prodding and pulling strings until people do what Blair's been dying to tell them to do all along. 

Still.

She's smart enough to know that she's not going to beat down seventeen years of high society repression in a single conversation, and. _And_. She's not the evil lesbian Blair keeps implying she is, but she _is_ a not-so-nice maybe-bisexual who _really_ wants to know what Blair sounds like with someone's mouth between her thighs. 

"Well," she says, tamping down that anger and focusing on the part of her that's making her fingers splay and curl into fists to keep from running them through Blair's hair. "I guess that means it's your turn."

And then - only then, after Vanessa's practically handed her a written invitation - Blair kisses her.

 

Fucking _finally_. 

That's the only thing Blair can think, when Vanessa caves and shoots her that coy little smile. That smile and her flirty little invitation, that's all the excuse Blair needs to lean in and kiss her again, and this time Blair's _sure_ she won't slap her away. Because Blair's not a lesbian (or a bisexual, or anything other than a very good girl who's going to go to Yale and fall in love with a cute boy from a nice family and have an absolutely fantastic life) but she knows what she wants, and Blair's _positive_ that she wants to be kissing Vanessa.

She's also positive, when Vanessa opens her mouth a little and slides her tongue across Blair's lower lip just _so_ , that she wants to do a little more than just kiss Vanessa. Okay, she wants to do a _lot_ more than just kiss Vanessa. She wants to know if Vanessa can make her come. She wants to know what Vanessa's fingers feel like inside her, and she's so preoccupied with thinking about how much she wants it, Blair doesn't even notice the way she's angling her hips up and forward until Vanessa's hips press right back.

Minutes later, when Vanessa pulls away to fumble with the buttons on Blair's dress, she's positive she wants that too. 

Of course, then Vanessa's mouth is skimming the tops of her breasts, warm and so soft Blair can barely feel it, and she stops thinking about whether or not she wants this and starts thinking about how much she wants _more_. She might even _say_ it, she doesn't know, because she's so focused on walking Vanessa over to the bed without giving her an excuse to stop. 

Except when she _has_ to stop, so that she can shimmy out of her tights and kick off her shoes, and it's not until Blair's all but naked on her own bed that she realizes Vanessa hasn't even taken off her jacket. So Blair pulls her close (clos _er_ , Vanessa's legs are already tangled in hers and Blair can feel her breathing against her shoulder) with one arm around Vanessa's waist, sliding the other up her belly, over her breasts (and Blair doesn't miss the way that makes Vanessa's breath catch) and into the sleeve of her jacket, sliding it half-off until Vanessa breaks away to help with the rest.

That's better.

And Blair _would_ start working on Vanessa's shirt, because the thought of Vanessa breathing fast and shuddery while Blair palms her breasts is just _fun_ , but then Vanessa's sliding down Blair's body and taking her panties with her, and well. _Well_. Blair's _definitely_ not going to say no to that. She's not going to say _anything_ to that, because there's not a lot to say, really, that Blair can't tell her just as well by parting her thighs and trying not to squirm with impatience while Vanessa's mouth hovers lower, moving closer to the spot where Blair needs her to be.

And then she stops.

She fucking _stops_ , and of _course_ Vanessa would turn out to be a tease, smirking up at Blair from between her legs, so close that she can _feel_ her breathing. Blair shifts her hips a little (which only gets her _wetter_ ), trying to get Vanessa to take the hint. She shifts again. There's a long, tense silence, and somehow Blair feels like she's conceding something bigger than just sex when she whimpers a little and says, "God, will you just _do_ it?"

Vanessa laughs, but Blair can't even get annoyed, because as she's laughing she's also leaning in to run the flat of her tongue across the slickness between Blair's thighs, and _yes_. That's what Blair wants, the slippery pressure of tongue across her clit, sliding down and back and not-quite-far-enough into her and back up again. It's - god, it's so fantastic, that Blair can't help but tangle her hands in Vanessa's hair (surprisingly soft, for someone with natural curls who uses drugstore shampoo) and _tug_ just a little bit.

Vanessa's nails dig into her thighs in response, and Blair just lets herself _purr_. It's absolutely _perfect_ , eight sharp points of pressure and the soft pads of Vanessa's thumbs high on the inside of her thighs, while Vanessa's sharp-soft tongue flicks and dances around Blair's clit until she's arching up, pulling Vanessa's hair just a little more roughly than she should and finishing _hard_ against her mouth. 

She can hear Vanessa giggling. And then she can _feel_ Vanessa giggling, right against that spot she still hasn't left, and Blair can't help but shiver and scoot away. (Not that she doesn't like getting head or anything, but at some point tonight she wants to see what Vanessa's face looks like when Blair's curling three fingers inside of her, and she can't do that if Vanessa keeps making her come.)

"So," Vanessa says, still grinning as she wipes her mouth. "I guess I don't need to ask if you were into that, huh?"

And, you know. There are a lot of ways Blair could respond to that. But then she remembers she's talking to _Vanessa Abrams_ , and just rolls her eyes. "Oh, _honestly_." There's a little bit of hurt in Vanessa's eyes - something Blair almost needed to see, and _god_ that makes her a bitch, but, it's a little late to change now. 

So Blair just waits a beat or two, and then she smiles. That slow, fuck-me smile, the one she used to use on Nate, back before - well, just before. Blair can almost _feel_ Vanessa relax, and _that's_ when she finally continues. "So, are you going to take your top off, or what?"

 

Sex with Blair is like doing anything else with her: gorgeous and compelling and peppered with caustic remarks that, normally, toe that line between charming and making Vanessa never want to speak to her again. But somehow, when Blair's naked and post-coitally flushed from her cheeks down to her navel, it's just. . .cute.

Or maybe it's not cute at all - maybe it's just that Blair's naked and practically _rubbing_ against her, while she rolls her eyes and wonders aloud why Vanessa's wearing leggings that look like _that_. Vanessa wouldn't know the difference. All she knows, as Blair nudges her with her knee and rolls the two of them over, is that it's impossible to _really_ be upset with Blair at a time like this. When Blair's pulling off Vanessa's shirt and kissing her tits while she _grinds_ herself nakedly against Vanessa, so hard and purposefully that she's pretty sure her skirt is going to have a wet spot, the only thing Vanessa can do is lie back and whimper, in an embarrassingly porn-star way she didn't even know she _did_ when she was horny. (Until Blair made her do it.)

Blair shimmies away, then, still cracking jokes about Vanessa's leggings (which is honestly a little unfair - they are _not_ that bad, and it's not like Blair in her ridiculous dresses should be one to talk). But Vanessa doesn't care this time, because Blair's pulling them _off_ , slipping them (and herself) down Vanessa's thighs an inch at a time and leaving kisses as she goes. By the time Blair gets to her knees, Vanessa can't _stand_ the wait any longer, and she leans up to slide them off herself. (Because _god_ , she needs Blair to stop fucking around and _touch_ her.)

Blair, though, she just smiles - the innocent one she saves for getting herself out of trouble - and slowly drags her knuckle along the dampness of Vanessa's panties. 

_Bitch._

Then she does it again. And it still makes her an incredible tease, but this time she presses just a little bit harder. So it's not so bad. Then she does it _again_ , and this time her knuckle finds Vanessa's clit and _turns_ , hard enough that Vanessa's hips buck against her hand and she moans. (Again, like a porn star. Somehow, Vanessa assumed that when she finally did it, she'd be cooler than all those fake lesbians in the pornos she'll never cop to having seen.)

Whatever. At least that's what Blair was apparently waiting for, because before Vanessa realizes what's going on Blair's helping her with her panties and her skirt, drawing slim, confident fingers over her clit and then up into her, and oh, _mmm_. It's _good_ , that slippery-full feeling as Blair's hand slides out and then in again to curl forward, hitting Vanessa just right, making her gasp and look up - and that's when she realizes Blair's not just looking at her, she's _watching_. She's staring right into Vanessa's eyes as she fucks her with her hand, and every time she makes Vanessa make that _sound_ (because she feels fantastic, and her legs are starting to shake in anticipation, and making too much noise is barely on her mind), her lips part just a little bit, like she's getting off on it. 

They watch each other, Vanessa getting off on watching Blair get off on getting her off, and this is good - alright, fine, it's _amazing_ \- but Vanessa needs more. So when Blair's fingers slide out next, Vanessa lets her hand wander down to her own clit, rubs two fingers over and across while Blair slides back in. Their hands bump together, slick with sweat and _Vanessa_ , and something about the intimacy of that and the feeling of Blair's eyes _on her_ , not moving for an instant, brings her over the edge with one last breathy gasp that Blair leans in to swallow with a kiss.

"Oh," Vanessa says, eyes flicking to the ceiling as Blair pulls out and moves to lie beside her on the bed.

" _Oh_ ," Blair says right back, her breath hot on Vanessa's shoulder while she rests sticky fingers on her belly.

"So." Vanessa's not quite sure what to say here, but she figures going back to the last thing they talked about is at least a safe bet. "We kissed." 

Blair just bursts into giggles, shaking against her until Vanessa can't help but join in. Because, in hindsight - at least to Vanessa - it seems like the stupidest thing in the world. She bumps Blair's arm with her elbow, gently. "You going to be okay?"

Blair looks at her for a long while, clearly thinking, then gives her a smile. The kind Vanessa's only ever seen her give to Serena. 

"Yeah," she says, and reaches for Vanessa's hand. "I think I am."


End file.
